I’m almost recovered from the Thanksgiving Day festivities, and the overload of fun caused by having Stephen Boucher and Janice Gelb in visiting from Australia. And then there was the effervescent energy that is Connie Willis. All in all it was a lovely time.
We had only one semi-disaster on Turkey Day. The door on my upper oven somehow got sprung, and wouldn’t close tight. So we used bungie cords and managed to keep it closed enough to finish the bird and heat the ham.
Here are a couple of photos. Sage Walker and I posing with said bungie cords, and me indicating them with the air of a game show hostess showing off the prizes.
I find myself strangely depressed. The house is very quiet. I’m not preparing to rush off for dinner at yet another Mexican restaurant so Stephen can get his quota of green and red chili. No more long conversations about books we’ve read. The craft of writing. What makes a good movie. Tales of worldcons past.
When I was younger I lived alone, and loved my privacy. Now I find myself craving conversation, or even just the sense of presence that another person sharing space with you can bring. Perhaps it because you realize that more of these holiday memories are behind you, and you cherish the moments, and the holidays still to come.
I don’t know how to do those little images that George uses on his blog. But if I could mine would be “pensive”.
